Hart's Desire
by HogwartsHistorian
Summary: AU. James Potter was just minutes away from Godric's Hallow when Lily sacrificed herself to save Harry. One moment changes everything for the entire wizarding world. Note: A hart is a male deer, the symbol for James Potter
1. The Beginning: James

October 31, 1981

The wind is cold on James' face. A color-warping cloak ripples silently around him, mimicking the purple and red of the sunset and darkening with the evening's deepening shadows. He grips the shaft of his broom, grateful for the warm dragonhide gloves as he glides over Warwickshire. A charm keeps him from leaving any shadow over the Muggletowns below. There is smoke in the wind. Nothing stirs, not a crow from the fencepost or a Deatheater from the darkness. James tightens and relaxes the muscles in his neck. The Gryffindor Stag feels the hunters drawing nearer.

He and Lily already knew they were tempting fate working against Voldemort, but news of the prophecy changed things. Dumbledore came himself to warn them of their peril and the strange news about Harry. The Potters secreted themselves away with the Fidelius Cham, Pettigrew as their secret keeper. That was Sirius' idea. He'd insisted on the change of plans. They could not be too careful in these times, even among the Order. Every moment the Dark Lord and his followers encroach further. Caradoc is missing and they have to presume the worst. They are all, even Harry, marked for death.

James' gloves tighten on his broom and his hazel eyes scan the purple sky for Deatheaters. He's returning from a meeting with the Longbottoms. Nothing but dark tidings from Alice and Frank.

He sees the mark whilst he's still miles from home. The sick green glows on the horizon. Godric's Hallow is invisible, shrouded in the lengthening darkness, but his heart guesses. He thinks of Lily and Harry and grows chill with coursing adrenaline. The broom can feel James' urgency and launches like an arrow through the night. He makes no attempt to approach with caution, praying only that the battle is still raging. His broom falls to the ground as he lands on scorched earth and gropes his way through the dark rubble, cursing the oily green light that casts deep shadows on the fractured front step.

James takes a leap up to the porch, like the hart bounding forward to protect his doe. Their Fidelus spell is broken and dark magic has splintered deep through the foundation; the door is ajar. He enters the hall, wand at ready. Looking up, he sees the Lily's Doe standing on the upper landing. The Patronus shimmers once, as if it has been waiting for him. "Lily?" he calls desperately, starting toward the stairs. The Doe holds his gaze. She dips her graceful head to him. Then the spell falters and dissipates into chalky darkness.

Shaken to his core, but wary of some trick, James calls out '_lumos_' and searches the house. "Harry!" he gasps, hearing a tearful shriek from upstairs. In a moment he is up the stairs, headless of the ruins cluttering the hall, the broken remnants of their life. The baby is in the nursery, now wailing up at open sky and the glare of the green skull. The child's helpless cries draw James to his side. He lurches forward, bringing Harry and the bundle of blankets to his chest. Small hands cling to James' cloak. The baby quiets in recognition of his father.

A trickle of blood runs down Harry's forehead and James wipes it away, hand shaking. There is a cut like a jagged bolt of lightening on Harry's brow. The wizard rubs his thumb against his forefinger and raises a spark of healing, then presses a warm thumb to the cut on Harry's forehead. The wound stops bleeding. Harry's shimmering green eyes look up with trust that nearly breaks him.

The light of James' wand falls across Lily's white hand, which is reaching for Harry. She's been drained of all color. Her auburn hair is a mess of dark tangles, bright green eyes seem gray. Lifeless.

The taste of the curse is thick in the room, but shock makes him nearly insensible to the dark magic residue. He nearly misses the something else, that's there too. The energy that shivers up and down his spine as he holds Harry in one arm and gathers his wife's body close, mute with grief and horror.

Hagrid arrives soon afterwards, the groaning of the fragile floorboards announcing his presence. James' eyes flash as he enters, helpless anger rising like bile. "Dumbledore sent you?" He hisses in a low voice, a broken, angry man.

Tears were running down the giant's cheeks as he nods. "'Arry's alive?" the gentle creature whispers.

James blinks, finding moisture in his eyes. He nods. His hands tighten around Harry, but he then allows Hagrid to lift the precious bundle. It is impossible to understand, impossible to process. James chokes out a cry as he is suddenly free to wrap both arms around Lily.

"Come off ta Hogwarts, Jim," Hagrid urges him. "You must. Dumbledore can keep yehs safe. Poor Lily. She'll be taken care of." He sniffs, gently holding Harry in one arm.

James retreats further inside himself, ignoring Hagrid and not stirring when Harry starts to cry. He wishes the Death Eaters would return, wishes the Dark Lord were there so he could rend the monster to bits or die in the attempt, as Lily had.

Sirius arrives, his motorbike spelled to silence as he stops in front of the house. Complete devastation greets his troubled gray eyes. How had he been so wrong? Peter had betrayed them. He had betrayed them all. "Lily! James!" He yells desperately, entering the house with wand raised.

James hears the voice and somehow it breaks through his stupor. He tenses and picks himself up, laying down Lily's white body tenderly. He stands tall above his wife like a sentinel spell, his face a mask of angry rebuke.

Sirius charges up the stairs moments later. He's hit by the taste of the Unforgivable curse and reels from the scene before him. He covers his eyes and blames himself.

"It's too late, Sirius," James intones to his best friend, face stony. Their careful planning had come to nothing. Worse, it had come to this. In his grief, James has no sympathy for Sirius. He has no forgiveness for any of them. They had failed her.

"Lily," Sirius gasps, swallowing a dry throat. He puts a hand over his mouth and looks away.

James isn't seeing his friend, his almost brother. There's only darkness and betrayal now, clouding out love. He points his wand at Sirius. "I trusted you, Padfoot," he challenges.

"I – Prongs, Peter was the secretkeeper. He was the one..." Sirius says desperately, gray eyes seeking mercy.

"It was your idea to use Peter." James accuses bitterly. "You knew he wasn't strong enough, a weak link so easily broken..."

Sirius shakes his head in denial. "If I wanted to hurt you or Lily, I could have done it easily," Sirius argues, gently. "Please, James. I would have died before I betrayed you!"

"You side-stepped so neatly. It saved your sterling 'Black' reputation, didn't it?" James sneers, wand arm tensing.

Sirius' eyes narrow. He prepares to defend himself. "You know where my loyalties lie," he replies coldly.

"I thought I did."

Sirius tries to hold the man's gaze, but the Prongs he knew was hidden deep within a cloud of hatred and grief. He backs away warily, down the stairs. With nowhere else to go, he mounts his bike and flies away. He would find Wormtail and prove his innocence.

Hagrid watches it all, eyes full of tears. Harry gives him a worried look and whimpers. "Ya poor tyke," he sobs. The giant carries the young savior over to the warped and crumbling fireplace. In a flash of green he disappears, then stomps out again in Dumbledore's office, shaking off soot.

The Hogwarts Headmaster has just arrived, having heard a rumor. "The boy lives?" he queries urgently, coming forward and leaning over the blanket. His eyes glow brightly with hope at the sight of the little boy who, somehow, managed to survive the Dark Lord's wrath.

The light in the old wizard's eyes dims as James steps out of the fireplace with Lily's body. His usual look of studied disarray was replaced with a wild, dark cloud of hair and he reeks of the battlefield. The easy smile is gone, his laughing eyes frozen. He ignores Dumbledore's sympathetic gaze. James levitates his wife's body without a sound and moves in a stiff walk toward the medical wing.

Minerva, hurrying toward the headmaster's office, lets out a gasp of recognition. She stops dead in her tracks as James moves by without seeing or acknowledging her. Stony-faced with grief, she enters the open door to the Headmaster's office.

"Ah, Professor McGonagall, come in," Dumbledore urges, though she needs no invitation. "Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," says Professor McGonagall coldly. This is not the time for lemon drops. "What news of the attack? That was James in the hall. Lily... she's dead?"

Dumbledore bows his head. Professor McGonagal flinches at the news, sucking in a breath and closing her eyes. "I can't believe it," she says, pulling out a lace handkerchief and dabbing her eyes with it. Her gaze falls on Harry, who is sleeping soundly in the crook of Hagrid's arm, wrapped snugly in a bundle of blankets. The curiously shaped scar gives her pause.

"Surely Harry wasn't there," she says in wonder. "How did he..." She glances up, alarm and confusion breaking through her usual reserve.

Dumbledore offers a small smile. "I think, Minerva, that we have won a great victory tonight."

"Are you saying that after all the people he's killed, he couldn't kill this little boy?" Professor McGonagall falters, looking sharply at the child.

"So it would seem," Dumbledore says seriously.

Outside in the wizarding world, rumors began to spread. The Potter boy had lived! After a decade living in mute terror, there was finally reason to celebrate. Up in the Hospital Wing, it was quiet as death. James sat with unnatural stillness, numb even to the needs of his child. Below, in the Hogwarts dungeons, someone sobbed.


	2. The Letter: Harry

"Harry!" James called up the stairs. "Breakfast." The smell of hot bacon, tea and eggs mixed together warmly in the summer air. It was a cheerful smell and a normal one in the Potter estate. Not that James did the cooking, but they managed to eat well despite that.

Harry blinked, struggling to be free of his bedclothes as he sat up in bed. He felt for his glasses and rubbed his eyes before putting the room into focus. It wasn't the biggest room in the house, but Harry liked the coziness and the feeling of everything in its place. He had his books, a desk for doing essays and math, thick red curtains on his bedpost, and a window seat for reading. The window glanced out at the grounds, which sprawled green for a while and then hit a stone wall before the road.

The property, known as Hawk's Hall because it stood at the top of a gentle hill, had belonged to the Potters for generations. However, James tended to keep a low profile and Harry barely knew his neighbors. The nearest Wizard family was in the next town over and James was polite but distant with the Muggles, who saw them as eccentric aristocrats. That, and his notoriety in the Wizarding World, isolated Harry. He rarely socialized with people his own age and wasn't allowed off the manor without an adult.

He hated that. He was nearly eleven, after all. But bringing it up with Dad or Remus just earned him a pained look and a reminder about Voldemort's followers and the terrible thing that had happened to his mother. Absently, Harry rubbed his lightening-shaped scar, then allowed his wild black hair to fall forward to cover it.

"Harry?" James prompted insistently from the kitchen at the bottom of the stairs.

"Coming!" he yelled, pulling on a bathrobe and padding towards breakfast.

The young boy grinned as he slid into the seat in the kitchen. It was the rare morning that Harry got James to himself. For as long as he could remember, James' focus was on catching Voldemort's followers and tracking down bad wizards. Remus was over most mornings so that James could leave early for work or track a contact in Egypt or Australia. He was sometimes gone for days on mysterious trips that he refused to talk about. Today, though, James' eyes were twinkling at him, directing Harry's attention to the letter left at his breakfast place.

Harry's heart did a little flip and he lifted the heavy parchment envelope, eyes wide. James encouraged him without a word. Harry broke the familiar seal, and unfolded the letter, the one that had been weighing on his mind for weeks now. He had nearly given up hope that it would ever come. His eyes found the words, "You have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Wizardry…" and his face broke into a relieved grin.

James laughed, making Harry look up. "As if there was any doubt," he teased, leaning over to read the supplies list over his shoulder. Harry leaned back against him and grinned with relief and delight. "Eat your breakfast," James said, sending his tilted chair back down with a gentle push.

Harry smiled as he bit into his bacon. "You didn't cook this, did you?" He asked curiously. They had a cook and housekeeper, but she didn't usually arrive until later in the day, leaving the wizards to fend for themselves in the morning. Remus sometimes made pancakes, but James was generally forbidden to even spell the food onto the plate.

James tried to look offended. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… it tastes good!" Harry said, laughing. "Uncle Remus is here?" he guessed, and the man appeared, coming through the swinging door from the main hall.

"Prongs!" Lupin's deep voice reproved. "You started without me!"

James grinned and shrugged. "We were hungry."

"Got your letter?" Remus said, turning to Harry. "Congratulations, kiddo. You do my tutoring proud or I'll be hearing from Professor McGonagall!" In addition to caring for Harry during the day, Lupin saw to Harry's formal education. He was a hard task-master, but fair.

"You didn't teach me any magic," Harry reproved.

Lupin smiled, helping himself to some eggs and toast. "Yes, well, at least you can string together sentences and do algebra. You have to learn the basics first, Harry."

Harry was making a face when a ministry owl distracted him. It flew through the open window a dropped a large bundle of letters on the table expectantly. James had the decency to look guilty as he set aside breakfast and took care of the owl. He began glancing through the letters, pushing his glasses up his nose as he read. Remus and Harry shared a bemused look.

"Harry," James said, putting the work correspondence aside with his usual reluctance.

"Yeah?" Harry said, taking a drink of orange juice.

"You'll be able to find my old Hogwarts trunk up in the attic. See if there's anything you can scavenge. Though, I dare say that fashions have changed since then. We'll do a run to the shops before we ship you off," he teased.

"Thanks so much," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

James laughed and finished the paper before he left Harry in Remus' care. "I'm meeting with Studgis later, Harry. See you tonight."

"Bye Dad," Harry said, finishing up his breakfast. He cleaned his plate and got dressed, then pulled Remus away from the paper. He dragged his uncle up the stairs to look for school supplies and other buried treasure that his dad might have stored up there.

"Here it is," Remus said, pulling out the monogrammed black trunk.

"Is that mum's?" Harry asked, pointing to the dark purple trunk sitting near James'.

Remus dusted off both luggage trunks, avoiding Harry's glance. "I suppose it is," he said, turning on another lamp. "Let's take a look."

Harry swallowed mixed emotions and waited while Lupin spelled open the old lock on his father's trunk. Soon he would have a wand of his own. Soon he would be on his own at Hogwarts. The locking spell didn't put up much of a fight. Harry grinned in wonderment as he rummaged through the 7th year essays and broken quills. There were some dress robes that Lupin picked up and draped to the side. "It'll take you some years to grow into these," he warned. The clothes in the trunk were all for a boy leaving Hogwarts rather than First Year.

Harry was busy opening books and trying to imagine his father as a schoolboy. There was a usable caldron, though Lupin threw out the potion ingredients that had gone bad. The scales needed balancing, but most of the glass phials only needed to be cleaned. Lupin went though with more practicality than sentiment, but Harry found a stash of photographs that had his immediate attention. He looked through the smiling, young faces: his father's wild hair, Lupin's scruffy chin, the strange, infamous faces of Sirius and Peter and the painful vision of his mother. "Do you think I could take these?" He asked, sharing them with Lupin who leaned back on his haunches and wiped his brow.

Remus smiled and handed them back after he'd drunk in the images and the tide of memories that went with them. "Your dad won't mind," he said, confidently. Harry was relieved that he wouldn't have to ask. James went half mad the week before Halloween and they did not display photos or portraits of Lily. Harry didn't know if he would have been brave enough to bring that wild look back for something so silly.

He sat for a minute, looking through them again. "Can we open hers?" he asked softly.

Lupin picked up his wand and spoke a quiet "_Alohomora._" Harry sidled up to the box, and lifted the lid. The papers and robes were neatly stacked and Harry leaned forward to catch the smell of lavender and mint. He glanced at her neatly written essays and leafed reverently through the textbooks with small notes in the margins.

There were photographs as well, tucked into a date book near the top of the trunk. Some were duplicates of what were in James' pile, but Harry studied one of his parents dressed up for winter ball, Lily laughing and straightening James' bow tie while James tossed his head cockily. Behind it was an older photograph of his mother with a strange, hook-nosed boy and a few muggle stills. He looked through them, but didn't disturb the way his mother had carefully packed the trunk. He left everything exactly as he'd found them.

Lupin watched him tenderly, knowing better than any one the quiet burden Harry bore so bravely. "She had an amazing potion set, Harry," he suggested, but didn't push it when Harry closed the lid of the box and stood up, ready to go back downstairs. He lifted the trunks back to where they had been stored and helped Harry carry everything to his room.

"Get your math," Lupin said as they headed to the schoolroom.

Harry groaned.


	3. The Rival: James

November 15, 1981

"Snape!" James screamed, blasting open the door to the Hogwarts dungeon.

Severus tried not to show fear as he reached for his wand. "How… dramatic," he drawled, knowing exactly how to incite his rival into ending him and ending the pain he felt. Lily was dead. If he could get James to kill him now, while he was under Hogwart's protection, well, then at least Snape would die knowing James was ruined, and so much the better. Two birds with one bitter stone.

"Traitor. I will kill you wear you stand," James threatened, face screwed up with anger and renewed grief. "_Stupefy_!"

Snape blocked the curse easily, robes billowing as he came to his feet. He was no longer a scrawny or weak. No easy target even for an Auror such as James. "What do you hope to accomplish, Potter? You haven't the backbone for Unforgivables and no hope to best me without them."

James roared his rage and pain. It had been two weeks and there was no sign of Voldemort. Known Death Eaters were in hiding, families like the Malfoys were "waking up" from the imperious curse and Severus Snape had set up camp in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

"It was you, wasn't it? You went to Voldemort. You told him about the prophecy," he accused. There was no proof. Dumbledore had been unreadable. But James was a man of great intuition and his hatred of Snape only fed the fire. "It's your fault she's dead, Death Eater. I should have let Moony rip you apart."

"And where were you, Potter?" Snape said darkly. "Where were you when she needed your protection? You and your little friends thought you could stand against the Dark Lord. She paid for your mistakes."

They circled one another, spitting curses like snakes, too evenly matched for either to gain the advantage. "It should have been you!" Snape hissed. It should have been anyone but Lily.

James threw a blasting curse. "She died rather than give in to the Dark Lord, you sniveling worm. She was stronger than either of us."

"And more forgiving," said Dumbledore coldly, appearing at the doorway. Raising his hands, he separated them like quarreling children. Still shocked by the blast, neither of them managed to withstand the double _Expelliarmus_ spell. They were left wandless, being scolded like they were still in school together.

"Come with me," Dumbledore ordered, turning on his heel. The two men exchanged murderous stares before they turned to follow.

This was not the first time they'ed been together in the Headmaster's quarters. Not even the first time for dueling. Their mutual enmity was almost a comfort now that the world had fallen out from under them. They sat stiffly in red velvet chairs, listening to the crackle of the hearth fire.

Dumbledore towered over the two of them with a deathly serious look on his face. "This is not acceptable," he scolded.

James leaned forward, pleading earnestly. "Professor, this man is responsible for Lily's death. Why do you offer him a place in the Order?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Voldemort killed Lilly, Jim. Severus warned us to be ready and he did everything in his power to protect her. We all did." His gaze lingered on Severus without accusation. "Now is the time to stand strong and to rebuild," Dumbledore continued.

James' eyes shone brilliantly. "I was her _husband_."

"That will have to be enough, then," Dumbledore admonished coldly. "This is a school. This is a safe place. You came here seeking to harm a man under Hogwart's protection."

"He is a Death Eater," James hissed.

"Never again enter Hogwarts without informing me or my deputy headmaster of your purpose here." There was a finality about that. Snape smiled with a sick kind of triumph. Dumbledore was backing him over the golden boy. This was almost worth sticking around to see.

James held Dumbledore's gaze, frustrated rage ready to level the old man. But the Wizard was not the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards for nothing. "Do I make myself clear, Mr. Potter?" He said, steel behind the pleasant tone.

James turned his gaze to Snape, seeing the triumph in his enemy's eyes. "I hear you, professor," he said, swallowing bitter disappointment. He was no longer welcome at Hogwarts, no longer the man he had been. He blamed himself, mostly, but Snape would always be the easiest target for his rage. "He can hide here as long as he wants," James spit out.

Dumbledore looked pleased. "Wonderful. It's settled, then. Jim, go home to your son. Harry needs you."

James did not give the school a backward glance. He accioed his broomstick and flew off, glad this time for the numbing cold wind and the long ride ahead of him.

Severus stood to go, wanting privacy to lick his wounds.

"Sit," Dumbledore ordered. "Harry will need you, too. As a member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"The boy belongs to Potter," Severus sneered. "He will grow up with the same hatred, the same blind prejudices."

Dumbledore shook his head. "He's Lily's son too, Severus."

Severus stiffened. He remembered his confession to Dumbledore. His desperate attempt to save her life. His failed attempt. "No one must know. If the rumor reached the Dark Lord, I would be as good as dead."

"Your secret is safe with me," Dumbledore promised. "I do not want you dead, old friend."

Severus searched Dumbledore's face for any sign of pity. "I will protect Lily's son, as a member of the Order," he promised.

He had loved her. He had failed her. There was no hope for him and no redemption. Just a little boy with Lily's eyes.


	4. The Goodbye: Harry

The dream again. His mother's cries, the flash of green light. When he was little, he used to shatter glass when he had nightmares about Voldemort. Now, he was more in control. Harry took a deep breath. Strange to have an enemy that was nothing but a nightmare. How were any of them supposed to fight that? They'd been striking at shadows for so long, Harry sometimes wondered if that's all they were.

Last night he had gone to bed thinking about his birthday. It felt pretty momentous, turning eleven. That, combined with the disturbing dream, kept him from closing his eyes again. After tossing and turning for thirty minutes and hearing that the birds were awake and twittering their bloody heads off, Harry threw off the blankets, found his glasses and went downstairs.

On the upper landing he froze, hearing a conversation taking place below in the study. His dad's voice cut through the morning calm. Harry suddenly felt a lot more awake. He crept closer to the sound. Dad was using the floo to talk to someone. Harry crouched down on the stair and listened closely.

"Are you sure? How long ago?" James demanded. "In Albania?"

"This isn't an exact science, Jim. The information comes from outside of Fier." The voice sounded strained and far away. Harry didn't recognize it. "I'll do some more digging and get back to you."

"I'll go myself," James said shortly. Harry's heartbeat speed up. "Meet me in at the Inn by The Crossroad."

Harry stepped into the room as the floo powder sizzled out, replaced by the healthier orange flame.

James started and turned around. The regarded each other for a moment, James trying to decipher how much of the conversation had been overheard and Harry keeping quiet because he knew that if he spoke there would be panic in his voice.

With effort, James pulled himself away from his mission. Harry needed to be protected. That meant he would scour the earth to track down the disturbing rumor he had just heard. It also meant he would not ruin this day for his son. "Happy birthday, Scamp!"

Harry tried to keep his face impassive and be brave. "Where are you going, Dad? Is this about You-Know-Who?"

James came forward. He looked Harry right in the eye. "Harry, _you _of all people should not be afraid to say his name," he encouraged gently.

Harry pursed his lips, his eyes moving toward the ceiling. There was no use telling James that he had just barely turned eleven and couldn't control his own magic. James was obsessed with tracking down Voldemort, so intent on that purpose that other things never seemed as important. There was no doubt that the man loved him, but there were things James wasn't prepared yet to hear and Harry was certainly not ready to say... though sometimes he was brave enough to think that he'd lost more than his mother ten years ago.

"I know, but people look at me like I'm a freak already," Harry muttered, masking his nerves with a huff of exasperation and a shrug. "And I guess that answers my question." He made a face.

James smiled sadly, and nodded. "I'm leaving tonight. Remus is coming by to look after you and the Weasleys have agreed to get you to the London train."

"You'll be gone that long?" Harry demanded, swallowing. There were still a few weeks left of summer, time he felt had just been taken away. It was supposed to be the two of them, together, for a little while longer.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, Harry," James amended, eyes pleading for understanding.

Harry shook his head, running up the stairs and away from James. He was going to be on his own at Hogwarts, anyway. A few weeks would hardly matter. Harry swiped his eyes. They were going to Diagon Alley today and then Dad would be gone. The whole day just felt like a goodbye.

When Harry came downstairs again, he managed a sad smile. He ate his waffles with fresh berries and sausages, ignoring the guilty look on his dad's face.

After the dishes were cleaned, they met in the study. James took Harry's hand, holding it tightly, as they walked through the floo entrance in the Leaky Caudron.

"Dad," Harry protested as they moved out of the way for other wizards to enter, "I'm not four!"

James reluctantly released his hand. "Stay close, Harry." Neither of them particularly cared for the extra attention they always received on their rare public appearances. James was too nervous of exposing his son to danger. Harry was just embarrassed by the eyes that riveted on him and his scar.

The bar grew quiet when they walked in and Tom, the bartender, bustled forward to shake their hands. To his dismay, Harry found himself shaking hands with a line of excited wizards. "What a pleasure, Mr. Potter!" Doris Crockford and Daedalus Diggle pushed their way to the front of the line. They were all quite pleased to meet the "boy who lived." He had a sinking feeling that he would never live enough to meet their expectations.

After reclaiming his hand, Harry was quite relieved to hear the familiar booming voice of his friend, the Hogwarts game keeper. "Happy Birthday, Harry!"

Daedalus Diggle promptly bought a round in honor of Harry Potter's birthday, which just made Harry feel more uncomfortable.

"Thanks Hagrid," he said, face hot with embarrassment.

"Off to Hogwarts, this year?" Hagrid said, beaming. "Well, don't you worry about it. You've met most of us one time or 'tother. Ah, and here's Professor Quirrell! He'll be the new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher."

Quirrell stepped forward and offered a shaking hand.

"P-potter c-can't tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you," he said, half shaking his hand and half bowing. Harry was alarmed, but James helped to extract him from the situation, leading them through the alley into Diagon Alley.

Hagrid and Harry followed him out into the street. "Re yehs going to Gringott's, Jim?" Hagrid asks. "I was headed there meself. Got some business for Dumbledore. Official Hogwart's business," he said, catching up with James in one stride while Harry had to work a bit to keep up. He kept getting distracted by the wonders of the busy wizard market.

James nodded and then asked after the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Hagrid nodded sagely. "Well, Wood's a good leader, but they'll be hard pressed with their seeker moving on."

James' hazel eyes winked down at Harry. "In a few years, I bet Harry'll be up to the challenge."

"Don't doubt it," Hagrid agreed. "He's a chip off the old block, that he is."

James' smile was proud and a bit self-important. _Great,_ Harry thought, _as if I didn't have enough to live up to. _

In the Gringott's lobby, James produced a key for the Goblin behind the front desk and Hagrid gave his letter to the same clerk. They stepped into the cart together as Hagrid seemed eager for the moral support. He swayed a little as they stopped to open the Potter's vault. James took what they needed for supplies and gave Harry some pocket money. With no little interest, the Potters accompanied Hagrid to vault seven hundred and thirteen, though James held his silence and Harry knew better than to ask about the small, grubby package wrapped in brown paper that Hagrid tucked into his dark cloak.

Hagrid staggered back to the Leaky Cauldron, hoping to recover from the goblin carts. He promised to meet up with them later. James dropped Harry off to be measured in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, while he picked up some birthday packages for 'you know who'.

"Hey, it's my birthday, not _his_," Harry said, with a burst of impish laugh.

James' eyes widened at the bold joke, but he smiled. "Alright, scamp. Don't overdo it. I'll be back soon."

Harry walked in and allowed himself to be placed on a footstool, smiling politely. His smile froze as he recognized Draco Malfoy. The two of them had met only briefly at a state dinner, but Harry knew from his father that elder Malfoy had only barely escaped Azkaban after Voldemort's fall.

"Hello," Harry said, neutrally. Being naturally shy and unnaturally famous made it hard for Harry to make friends his own age. He decided he wouldn't judge the boy based on who his parents were.

"Hello," Draco drawled. "Harry Potter," he acknowledged, sizing him up with a glance. "You're a first year too? Can you believe they won't let us have racing brooms? I'm going to bully father into getting me one and smuggle it in somehow."

Harry cringed at the easy entitlement in the boy's voice. Still, he tried to keep up his end of the conversation. "I have my eye on that Nimbus 2000," he said, admiration creeping into his voice.

Draco glanced over sharply. "You haven't got one, have you?" he demanded. "First years aren't allowed."

Harry stiffened, earning an irritated look from Madam Malkin. "No," he admitted.

Draco looked pleased. "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. You'll be in Gryffindor, I suppose. If you're anything like your _parents._"

Harry's shackles rose immediately. No one had ever dared insult his parents to his face. Lily was a hero in the wizarding world and James' reputation and protectiveness had shielded him.

"I'll be in Slytherin, of course," Draco said shrewdly. "Our family goes back six generations. One of the only _pure _wizarding families left."

Harry's eyes narrowed and his heart pounded angrily. "Some of us," he said quietly, "are less concerned about blood traitors and more concerned about _real _traitors." He left the shop as soon as Madam Malkin released him to join his father out on the street. Harry was quiet as they walked by the shops and stalls. Being on his own was going to be harder than he thought.

His mood lightened a bit when they ventured in to buy parchment, then spent a leisurely fortyfive minutes at Flourish and Blotts. Harry's eyes feasted on the spellbooks, hungry to start trying out his magic.

"Pick two," James encouraged. He'd never allowed Harry his own spellbooks, thinking it was too much temptation for a young wizard without formal training. Now that he was heading to Hogwarts, the world was opening up to him. Harry choose carefully. The first was a simple charm book that included tips for beginning broomriders called _Into the Air: An Introduction to Floating, Fetching, and Flying_. He debated between _Curses and Countercurses _and a book on Defensive Magic until he settled on _Primary Protections: Cushioning, Countercurses and Defensive Shields. _

"Are you sure that you don't need a solid gold cauldron, Harry?" James teased when they moved on to the Apothocary. "You'll have to do something to impress Professor Snape."

Harry rolled his eyes, taking a pewter cauldron and handing his list to the man behind the counter. "Professor Snape?" he asked, eyes wide as he gazed up at the strand of unicorn horns.

James smile was a little strained. "He went to school with your mother and me. A petty, sniv- cruel boy grown to be a petty, cruel man. Stir clear of him when you can, Harry, and don't take what he says personally."

Harry nodded nervously as they gathered the up their ingredients and lined up to pay. Hagrid met them outside, juggling three cones of ice cream, and insisted on taking them into the Eeylop's Owl Emporium and buying Harry his birthday present.

"She's brilliant, Hagrid," Harry said gratefully as they said goodbye.

Finally, James steered them into Ollivander's. Harry looked up hopefully at the stacks upon stacks of wand boxes.

"Ah, Harry Potter," Ollivander said, "I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Hello, James. Eleven inch, mahogany, am I right? Are you taking good care of it?"

James smiled broadly. He reached into his pocked and produced the wand. It had served him well. He remembered the day he had come into the shop with his father. The first step to becoming a real wizard. Ollivander nodded once in confirmation and James put tucked it away again.

"Well, let's see about Harry, here." Ollivander made his measurements efficiently. James gave his son a reassuring smile as Harry tried wand after wand. Finally his wand arm warmed and sparks flew through to the end of _his _new wand.

"Curious, how curious," Ollivander said, the triumphant smile cooling.

"Sorry," said Harry nervously, "but _what's_ curious?" He glanced at James, who's eyes had narrowed.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter," Ollivander continued. "Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why its brother gave you that scar."

James started, his body stiffening. "You're sure?" he asked quietly. All the dangers he had guarded against meant nothing. Here was Voldemort again, in what should have been a happy occasion. It was an invasion, a violation, and there was nothing he could do.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Harry... After all. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."

"Yes, thank you," James said shortly, paying for the wand and taking Harry out into the street again.

Harry glanced up at his father's face. He looked troubled, his features stern. Harry wondered what it all meant, this scar, the looks that people gave him in the streets, always wanting to shake his hand or looking at him warily, as if he were someone special. And now his wand was Voldemort's kin. He wished so much to be ordinary. No doubt they'd realize that he was nothing special at Hogwarts. A harmless Hufflepuff, he didn't doubt.

James managed to shake his thick mood and Harry didn't mention his worries at all. They had fish and chips and butter beer before stepped through the hearth at home. There was a familiar darkness in Hawk's Hall, which was soon lit up again for small celebration. Lupin had arrived during the day and delivered his gift with a fond smile. It was a sturdy black and gold trunk. He'd done extra charm-work himself. Harry immediately began to explore the features. It was expandable, weighed an easy two kilograms no matter what was placed inside, and had a good deal of wizardspace if he needed it.

"It'll take good care of your robes, Harry. Anti-wrinkle and self-organizing spells," Remus explained. He demonstrated by dumping all the parcels from their trip inside the trunk. He closed the lid and turned the key. There was a quiet thumping and rattling as the contents rearranged themselves. When Remus lifted the top, Harry found his new books alphabetized, unused candles laid out in a neat row, potion ingredients carefully packaged, clothing neatly folded and stacked by size and occasion.

"Brilliant!" Harry breathed.

His father had a few packages for him. Chocolate frogs, of course, a collapsible silver telescope, a wand belt made of dragonhide. Harry was quite properly grateful for them all. He was looking through his vast Chocolate Frog Card collection, spreading them across his bedspread when his father came up to say goodnight and his final goodbye.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," James said, sitting beside him while Harry hastily gathered up his cards and put them in his nightstand. "You be safe, alright?"

Harry nodded. "I'll do my best. You be safe too," he said seriously.

James smiled down at him, feeling proud. "Before I go, there's something else I got for you."

"Dad," Harry laughed. "It's not the golden cauldron, is is?"

James snorted ruefully and shook his head. "It's something a little more practical."

He handed Harry the small package, wrapped in brown paper. Harry unwrapped it quickly. On a simple silver chain was a thin, oval amulet made of bronze. Harry put his thumb over the warm metal. It thrummed pleasantly. There were two silver stags and doe on the face of the amulet.

James smiled. "It's a occluder, Harry. It will protect your mind from invasive magic."

Harry slipped the amulet over his head. "Thank you," he said quietly. He leaned against James, wishing he didn't have to grow up and that his father wasn't leaving.

"I love you, Harry," James said, gently squeezing him. "Be good, alright?"

Harry nodded. "Good-bye, Dad."


	5. The Trial: James

November 5, 1981

James and Lupin stood at the gates of Azkaban. They had left Harry with the Weasley family, not able to subject the child to the sight of the dreadful black tower or the chill that came with the presence of Dementors. By the time the gate creaked open, the two of them where soaked through with the stormy rain off the North Sea. They entered the gloom of the antechamber and glanced up, hearing the wind-tossed shrieks clearly as they stood, waiting for their audience with Sirius Black.

Azkaban was guarded by Dementors and they lent it their eerie cold. The place leeched the life and the magic from their bodies. James felt the dark memories rise unbidden to his head, the despair and helpless rage nearly bringing him to his knees before the creature that would be their guide and their guard. Lupin supported him briefly by the elbow as they reluctantly relinquished their wands, but James made himself stand free and look straight ahead. Without speaking, they walked side-by-side by cells where Death Eaters spit at them and mad men screamed.

The Dementor slowly turned the key to a corner cell that was quiet and dark. It allowed the two young men to enter. The three of them stood, each face pale and gaunt from the last month they had spent in their own private hells. Sirius was locked here for the murder of the 12 Muggles. There had been no trial. Wormtail was presumed dead, but the Aurors could not accept it until they saw that for themselves.

Sirius was thin and shaking. James knelt in front of him and they locked their right forearms together. "I can't believe they are keeping you here with these traitors," James muttered darkly. "The Ministry of Magic is nothing but a hollow shell right now, filled with hysterical idiots and cowards. They refuse to listen. They've stopped looking for Voldemort and tell me Peter is dead. It's not true." He shook his head. "I know they are both still out there."

"I'm sorry," Sirius said, head bowed so filthy, stringy hair covered his grief-stricken eyes. "I couldn't stop him. I should have known."

"Not one of us suspected Peter," Lupin broke in, standing to Sirius' left side. The werewolf's face was shadowed and haggard. "Not one of us could stop he-who-will-not-be-named."

"Voldemort," James said the name like the curse it was.

"Harry did," Sirius said, a note of awe in his voice. "Harry stopped him."

Lupin held his friend's eyes with compassion. "Lily gave her life for Harry. Now we have to keep him safe from bitter, power-stripped Death Eaters. If even a shadow of Peter and You-Know-Who remain, they will be intent on destroying Harry."

James nodded, resolute. "And, my friend, we will take your case to the Wizengamot. Dumbledore knows you were not my secret keeper. He knows what Peter did."

Lupin's face was grim. "But he thinks your recklessness led, in part, to the deaths of those muggles."

Sirius looked stricken and pale. "I won't hold my breath, then," he said bitterly.

James gave him a pained grin. "We'll get you out of here, Padfoot. Hold on, okay? He took a photo of Harry, one taken before he was marred by Voldemort, and pressed it into Sirius' hands. "Your godson needs you to hold on."

December 10, 1981

The Wizengamot met a month later, filing in to Courtroom 10 in their formal purple robes. Their faces were deadly serious. This was the first time of they had met together to serve justice since the fall of Voldemort. The Wizengamot had been purged of Death Eaters and Albus Dumbledore stood as Chief Warlock. He sat alert and ready to preside, entirely uncertain that his influence could protect the former pupil. The man had been thrown into Azkaban without a trial and in many of the Wizengamot had no desire to overturn the sentence.

Sirius Black, the accused, was brought from Azkaban to sit before them. His eyes were wild with the first touches of Dementor madness, hair unkempt and filthy. He sat in the chair of chains with a haughty smile while the charges were read.

"Sirius Black, you stand accused of the murder of twelve muggles and Peter Pettigrew, revealing information that lead to the death of Lily Potter, and for being in the service of the dark wizard Voldemort," Dumbledore said with quiet gravity.

"I would die before I betrayed James or Lily," Sirius said loudly and defiantly.

"I saw you killed twelve muggles in the street," accused the young, sharp-tongued member of the Wizengamot, Cornelius Fudge. "You killed them and you laughed. It was your spell that destroyed Peter Pettigrew and left those charred bodies. I was there!"

James stood as a witness for the defense, face stony beside his friend. He was holding his son. He had decided to bring Harry as a testament to what Peter had done. All who saw his dark, lightening-shaped scar would know the sacrifice they had made and remember the miracle that had saved them all. Sirius was blameless in this. He had done nothing but his duty as an Auror, as a friend, to attempt to capture the treacherous fugitive.

"Sirius did not betray me," he told the Wizengamot. "Peter Pettigrew was my secret keeper and it was him that gave the information to Voldemort." Many of the wizards in the council glanced up. They were unused to such open use of the dark wizard's name. From Dumbledore, they expected it, but James seemed to be tempting fate by calling out the madman so defiantly.

"Exactly who," spoke up Evelyn Montrose, the fair but steely-eyed interrogator beside Fudge, "knew that Pettigrew was your secret keeper?"

"I did," Sirius said loudly.

"He was the only one who knew," James said quietly.

"Why did you choose Peter and not Sirius?" Dumbledore asked calmly. "It seems Sirius is the more obvious choice of the two."

James hesitated. "We decided against Sirius precisely because he was the obvious choice," he said earnestly. "Sirius knew Voldemort would suspect him and so we chose Peter." He looked down at the floor, struggling to relive the decisions that had brought Lily's death.

"Sirius suggested?" asked Evelyn Montrose. "Sirius refused to be your secret keeper?"

"I never refused!" Sirius broke in. "I was the decoy."

Fudge's eyes narrowed. "No sane man would volunteer to be hunted by the Death Eaters… unless you were in league with them yourself. At your suggestion, Pettigrew became the secret keeper. You gave him to the Death Eaters and then you killed him before he could reveal your part in this, didn't you?"

"No!" Sirius shouted angrily.

"James," broke in Montrose, her voice even, "did you ever have any reason to suspect Sirius was in league with the Dark Lord?"

"No," James said firmly.

"And did you suspect Peter?" Montrose questioned further.

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't have given him my secret!" James replied angrily. He felt almost as it he were the one on trial here.

Montrose turned to Sirius. "Did you kill Peter Pettigrew and 12 Muggles with a blasting curse on November 1st in front of a street full of witnesses?"

"I didn't." Sirius said, vehemently. "The bastard is still out there."

"All that remained of Peter Pettigrew was a severed finger. Several witnesses, including me, have already said that they heard Pettigrew accuse Sirius of colluding with he-who-shall-not-be-named before the explosion that killed those twelve others," Fudge put in.

"That wasn't me!" Sirius said. "Check my wand! I didn't kill those people!"

"Your wand was broken in the exchange, as I am sure you are aware." Fudge said coldly.

"Sirius was an Auror and fought against Voldemort!" James said, defending his friend passionately. Their work with the Order was a secret, but in desperation, James turned to Dumbledore. "Didn't he help you? Didn't he work with you?" he demanded of the Chief Warlock.

"He did," Dumbledore said gravely. "He saved the lives of many men and women through acts of selfless valor. I cannot, I do not, believe that he would betray his closest friends."

"With all due respect," Montrose said to the presiding wizard, "we were many of us deceived in the last few years. We must look at the evidence that we have."

"We have all the proof we need," Fudge sneered. "Black has betrayed us all. He has been working for the Dark Lord. If you have no further evidence, we will submit the matter to the Wizengamut."

James held Harry close to him while the whispers above grew furiously urgent. He caught Sirius' eyes and there was no solace there, only the beginning of madness.

Once the votes were tallied, Sirius was convicted. The chains rose up and surrounded him, binding him to the chair. Harry started to cry.


	6. The Potion Master: Harry

Staying at the Burrow was always interesting for Harry. He both was and wasn't part of the brood there, never quite jiving with the cacophony. It was embarrassing how Mrs. Weasley babied him so much in comparison with her own boys. Still, he liked that he didn't have time to be bored or lonely!

Ever since James dropped him off, he'd been running around playing games with Ron, Fred and George. They talked Quidditch and the upcoming school year. They discussed the attempted break-in at Gringotts, but mostly just enjoyed the last days of summer.

"Harry's definitely mum's favorite," Fred teased.

"Probably because he's so darn cute!" added George. As he said it, he reached over and pinched Harry's cheek, none too gently.

"Get off!" Harry said grumpily, pushing him away. Ron grinned, glad to have his buddy there to take some of the brotherly attention away from him. Up to this point, the two first-year students saw each other only when James had to leave on one of his missions and Mooney wasn't available. They were both glad, though, to know they wouldn't have to go it alone that first night at Hogwarts.

"We'll keep an eye on you," Fred promised, with a gleam in his eye that didn't make either of them feel entirely comfortable.

"Unless of course –" George began.

"You get sorted into Slytherin," Fred finished.

Harry's face paled and Ron turned red. "We won't!" Ron protested angrily.

"I don't know," Fred said, knowing he'd hit gold here. "I saw how you played that extra dessert thing, Harry. Very devious."

Harry's face was still pale. "My father would probably disown me if that happened," he said darkly. "Bad enough that I speak Parseltongue and my wand…" he trailed off.

"What?" asked Ron, voice squeaky with fear.

"The core was the same as the core of Voldemort's wand," Harry confessed. The three brothers shivered at the name and the import of what they had heard.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," said George. "We know you're no Slytherin."

Harry was glad when the journey to Hogwarts and the sorting were over, though he and Ron had gorged themselves on sweets on the train and then dug in happily at the welcome feast, so it wasn't all bad. Harry scribbled a quick note to Remus, knowing that whenever his dad made it back, Mooney would pass the information on. He didn't mention his little internal debate with the hat. He also didn't mention the pain in his scar when Professor Snape glanced at him during the feast. He was kind of hoping on making it through the first year without being pulled out of Hogwarts by his overprotective parental unit.

He played a lazy game of chess with Ron before heading to his bed, dreaming of Quirrell and Snape and flashes of green light. The nightmare was only slightly worse than the reality of the Potion Master's sadistic grilling the next day.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"I don't know, sir," he admitted.

"I'm shocked," Snape drawled. "And Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Snape fired off, clearly enjoying the display of ignorance.

"Maybe an apothecary?" Harry guessed. No one dared laugh, though a few students covered smiles.

Snape glared at him. "Oh really?" he chided. "Insolence is no substitute for intelligence, Potter. A point from Gryffindor."

Harry's face flushed angrily, but he held his tongue.

"What is the diffence, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"They're the same, sir," Harry said immediately. It did help to have a werewolf for an uncle.

"Extremely impressive, Potter," said the potion master, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was beginning to think your father had totally neglected your education. Almost as if you were raised by wolves," he mused.

Harry had never felt so helplessly angry. The jab at Lupin made him see red. How did this man know their family's most closely-guarded secret? He seethed in silence for a moment while Snape rattled off answers and insults. Then Harry bent darkly over his cauldron, managing extremely middling success that did not escape Snape's scathing commentary.

Now, back in the dormitory, Harry's anger had peaked. The sympathy from Rom and the other Gryffindors wasn't helping. It only seemed to support Snape's accusation that Harry enjoyed playing the martyr, that he somehow had asked for whispers that dogged his every step. He had no privacy (a condition he'd become used to early in life), but Harry didn't see this as an enviable situation.

Still, Harry wondered whether there was some truth to Snape's needling (which, of course, only made it that much more intolerable). He had grown up as a celebrity, with the occasional perks that came with it. He knew he received far more gifts than Ron ever did on holidays and the like and it was true that the Potter fortune was neigh-on bottomless, which meant he had never used a hand-me-down unless it was by his own choice. He didn't _think_ he was spoiled. He definitely didn't believe what Snape was saying about his father.

The Potter name would have been a difficult one to live up to, even if he hadn't somehow freed the wizarding world from tyranny as a six-month-old baby. His parents were powerful wizards and the Potters were an old, respectable wizarding family. They tended toward Gryffindor, though not as strongly as the Weasleys (Harry had a few ancestors from Ravenclaw and one or two in Slytherin). James had never had the patience for politics, and his passionate and outraged battle to get Sirius freed had won him few friends and many enemies. He continued to visit his best friend in Azkaban, returning with a certain wildness and coldness that made Harry fear the place more than anything in the world, more than Voldemort's return.

James had also played a role in nearly every dark wizardry arrest since the fall of Voldemort. He was still officially a Ministry Auror, but Harry knew most of his dealings were less than official and sometimes openly defiant of Ministry policy. And James' top priority, guarding against the return of Voldemort, had made him a black sheep and an outsider among the political elite, most of whom were ready to put the wizarding war behind them.

Harry sighed and tried to sleep. He was naturally more cautious than James. Sure, in the heat of things, he acted quickly, decisively, and sometimes rashly. But before, when he was deciding what to do, he would agonize over it. And after, he'd dwell on his mistakes overly long.

Harry had never been out on his own before. He'd never come across someone like Snape or even any sodding weasels like Malfoy. Hogwarts was going to be harder than he had ever predicted. It was a long while before he was able to chase the Potion Master out of his thoughts, and longer before he felt his heartache and loneliness ease enough to let him sleep.


	7. The Striving: James

January 19, 1982

The trials of former Death Eaters continued for weeks. James wondered how many other innocents had been locked up with Sirius and how many of Voldemort's followers were set free. Karkaroff was released, Snape was never tried for his part in the war, and the Malfoys and many others claimed the imperious curse. Yet Sirius was in Azkaban with Bellatrix and Crouch's Death Eater son. It was only the thought that maybe he could help Sirius, exert his waning influence to clear his name, that made James stay with the Ministry. That, and the chance to track down murderous Death Eaters like Elrick Price.

The moon was full, so Harry was with Molly. James flew silently under the bright lunar light. He'd dogged Price to the German border. They had heard rumors through Belgium of a network of Death Eaters, all turning on one another. Several bodies had turned up outside of Gent. James found his man posing as a Muggle, skulking in the slums of Bonn.

He circled the area high in the air, looking for signs of any unpleasant company. It could always be a trap. Then he landed unobtrusively in the shadow of a tavern. Even in the crush of the evening's festivities, he was able to keep hidden while he waited for Price to leave the cover of the Muggles and head home. It helped that he had his cloak of invisibility wrapped around him, though he felt the chill of winter penetrate the magical threads.

When he finally saw the tall, thin form move down the street, James became tense and alert. He moved carefully, trying to make no sound as he moved like a shadow past dark doorways. Price was careful too, making friendly conversation with Muggles, when James knew he had helped to torture and sacrifice such innocent men for Voldemort just a few months ago. Now Price needed to disappear, to break ties with the wizarding world long enough to lose the Death Eaters clambering for revenge and the Auror at his heel.

Though he risked exposure to disarm the man before they were inside and away from Muggles, James took out his wand and when the street was darkest and quietest, he drew himself up and hurled a spell at the Death Eater.

"_Evictris!_" he yelled. He had invented the spell as a way of identifying Death Eaters, or at least those elite enough to bear the Dark Mark. He heard Price cry out as the skull on his hand turned white and burned like fire. The spell ripped away any attempt at concealment and penetrated any polyjuice potion or doppelganger charm.

Elrick turned. Seeing James, he pulled out his wand. The Unforgiveables came easily to his lips. "_Crucio_!" he cried, channeling hatred and fear into a blinding shot that missed James by a wide margin as he instinctively dodged to the side, tumbling over cardboard and trash before he hit the wall, unbalanced.

"_Calix Immobilus_!" James said, coming to a combat stance, but pointing his wand to the ground rather than at Price. The cobblestones beneath Price's feet immediately broke into gravel and encased the dark wizard's ankles before turning again to unyielding blocks. That still left his wand arm free, however.

"_Expulso_" the man fired at James, causing him to be bowled back by the aftershock. Then Price nearly took off his own feet trying to free his legs from the stone manacles with the same explosion spell. "_Impedimenta_" he screamed when he saw James starting toward him once again.

James tripped and struggled against the spell, before he found sure footing again. Then with a glare and careful aim, he fired his final shot. "_Petrificus Totalus_!" The spell, cast with such force at such close range, hit Price dead on and he went rigid. His wand clattered to the ground. James dispelled the remaining magics and, when the man was bound, James apparated them both to the Auror Holding Room in the Ministry of Magic.

The room was small, but functional for the transport of prisoners. It was a white, windowless chamber with a smooth circular wall. It appeared to have no door. Only a Ministry Auror, using his or her registered wand, could reveal the dark metal portal. No one could apparate out. James neatly waved his wand in the correct pattern and the door appeared. He dragged the dark wizard through into the small row of jail cells. There he left Price in the capable hands of the night guard, Jonathan Kilian, to be booked until the Wizengamot trial.

The number of captures had slowed and there was only one other guest tonight under lockdown. James and Moody had both worked to capture Kerrington Fuller. The man had a scar neatly bisecting his right eye, giving him a cat-like look. He smiled evilly at James. "Going home to the family, Potter?" he hissed. "Going home to see that lovely little mudblood? Oh that's right. Master took care of her. The Dark Lord has ways of dealing with blood traitors like you too, Potter."

"Your master was defeated by a child not two years old. My son," James said with calculated casualness, a parry to a blow that could not be more devastating. His family was destroyed. Yet, somehow, he and Harry would have to move on. It was all they could do for Lily, because of Lily.

He flooed over to the Burrow, immediately feeling crushed by the noise of children and the heat of food cooking and frenzied activity. All seven Weasley children were still at home, conducting themselves at top volume. Bill and Charlie were playing wizardball while Molly yelled at them to stop or take it outside. Percy was plucking a squawking stuffed chicken. Fred and George were in the process of knocking books and papers off their father's writing desk with twin mischievous grins on their faces. Ron was sitting on the carpet, bawling… and that left Ginny balanced on Molly's hip. James looked around, searching for his son's place in this chaos. While Molly and Arthur seemed to be enjoying having all their children under one little roof, James was sure he'd be anxious to start shipping them off to Hogwarts.

"Dada!" Harry screeched, toddling over holding several feathers from Percy's stuffed chicken. He was dressed just like a Weasley, in a tiny little knitted sweater from Molly. Still, his wild black hair stood up proudly and his scar would forever set him apart. He wore a pair of small round spectacles and wobbled uncertainly as he moved from secure handhold to handhold until he found his way to James' pant leg.

James picked up his son, smiling and accepting the seat and the tea as Molly continued to bark at the children without much effect. Not a few minutes later Arthur came through the door and was mobbed by his offspring as if they had scarce expected to see him again. James stayed for fresh bread and stew, eating quietly as the children chattered and Arthur and Molly discussed their day. The pall had lifted from their lives, with the War over and their children safe at long last. They no longer worried about sending Bill away to school, no longer glanced at the family clock to check for Mortal Peril at any odd hour of the day. And, as they began to pick up their lives and move on, they always kept a place for Harry, who had saved them, and James who had lost everything in the war.

Well, almost everything, James thought as he took a sleeping boy-who-lived back through the hearth at Hawk's Hall. The wards were strong, but there was more than one reason that James slept that night where he could hear every peaceful, miraculous breath that Harry took and share every sleeping whimper with his son.


	8. The Seeker: Harry

Once the initial shock wore off, Harry vacillated between abject terror and soaring euphoria. He, a first year, was going to be the new Gryffindor seeker! It had been the furthest thing from his mind when he'd mounted his broom to rescue Neville's Remberall. All he'd wanted was to wipe that smirk of Malfoy's face. Well, he'd certainly accomplished that!

He grinned at Ron, who was being a remarkably good sport. Hermione hadn't done anything except sniff at him disapprovingly. It hardly mattered though, not after he'd gotten to send an owl to Hawk's Hall to tell his father that he would be playing in the first Quidditch Match of the season as the youngest house player in over a century. He'd been expecting a note back, but instead a mass of delivery owls dragged over a large, unwieldy package. He tore off the note and read it quickly, while curiosity mounted around him.

_Harry – _

_I guess you'll be needing this for the big match! Make sure you get in as much practice as possible and be careful! I'll be there if I can to see your debut. I'm very proud of you. _

_- Dad _

_P.S. – Probably shouldn't open the package in front of the whole school. Professor McGonagall thinks it will cause a riot. _

Harry's fingers twitched in anticipation and he grinned at Ron before grabbing the package with one hand and pulling Ron after him with the other. He had a pretty good idea what was inside, as he'd made it clear he had only one love when it came to broomsticks.

As soon as they were out of the Great Hall, they ducked into a room off the main hallway. It was too small to be a classroom and too big for stores or maintenance. It was dusty and empty, except for a cobwebbed bookshelf and two student desks. They placed the package on one of the writing tables and unwrapped it with reverence, revealing the infamous, the superb, Nimbus 2000.

"Oh, Harry," Ron breathed, jealous and proud at the same time.

"It sounds like Dad talked to Professor McGonagall," Harry said. "I had to have a broomstick…" he grinned happily as he gestured at the one his father had chosen. It was perfect.

"That is not just any broomstick," Ron said, admiration coloring his voice. Harry nodded. They packed it up and went out into the hallway, nearly tripping over Malfoy who was waiting for them outside the small room.

"First years aren't allowed broomsticks!" he whinged immediately, seeing what Harry carried proudly in his hands.

"Yeah," Harry said sarcastically. "Seems like your little joke with Neville's Rememberall got me in so much trouble, they're making an exception for me." He didn't reveal all that had gone right for him, only managing because Wood wanted to keep it a secret and he doubted McGongall would take kindly to him gloating. As it was, he had to deal with the lecture from Herminone, who apparently thought she was the youngest prefect in Hogwarts history.

"I just hope," Harry confided to Ron as the escaped Hermione and trooped down to Potions, "that I am as good as they are expecting. Otherwise I think I'll have to transfer to Durmstrang."

"If you do, you'll have to get me Krum's autograph!" Ron said, grinning. "Now there's a real seeker!" he said, grinning mischievously and earning a playful shove from Harry.

"I can't wait to tell Charlie!" Harry said, knowing that while his older friend was studying Dragons in Romania, he would be happy to hear about Harry's success and the turn of luck for the Gryffindor team. Charlie was well-regarded as a Gryffindor seeker, a bit of a star actually, and Harry was sometimes jealous of the older Weasley's conversations with James about the position they both were born to play. Harry had hoped to one day succeed his father on the Gryffindor team, but never imagined it would happen during his first year.

Snape was in a foul mood during Potions with the Slytherins and the majority of his ire was directed at Harry. "Ah, Potter," he said with a dangerous purr, "So glad you have graced us with your presence. I know your schedule is so busy these days."

Harry glowered at him, but knew he could say nothing in his own defense.

"I am sure you were much too busy to read so much as the recipe for Smelling-Stop Serum, but even you could infer the purpose of today's potion?"

"To block unpleasant smells, sir," Harry replied.

Snape sighed. "Unpleasant smells?" he said with tired condescension. "It is called Smelling-Stop Serum, Potter. It stops all smells good or bad. When made correctly, which is something I doubt will happen today. The effects last how long, Longbottom?"

"Uh, well. Uh." Neville stammered.

"I see. A bit shorter than your answer will take," Snape said scathingly. "Approximately 2 hours. The main ingredients can be found on the front table. Spill them and I will make you sample whatever noxious concoction Longbottom comes up with." He smiled briefly and evilly as Neville turned bright red and the other students paled noticeably.

Most of the ingredients smelled disgusting and every time a student gagged it seemed to improve Snape's mood a bit. Hermione managed to create a vial of clear, odorless liquid that she stopped and turned in. Harry's was slightly yellow, but only a professor as malicious as Snape would mark him down for that. He hoped his father would understand when he came home with a P in Potions. Neville's was the consistency of tar and bubbled continuously even when removed from the heat. The Potion lab had never looked so clean by the time they packed up and moved on.

Harry suffered through the rest of his classes, mind coursing ahead to the evening. On the Quidditch pitch that night, Harry tried not to be nervous as Wood tested out his reflexes. It helped that the Nimbus 2000 flew like an arrow and responded his every need. It was smooth and fast and everything he'd dreamed it would be. Wood crowed with pleasure as Harry fetched golf balls for him. Harry only hoped he'd fare the same when there were Chasers, Bludgers, Beaters and Quaffles to contend with, but that would have to wait until the first real match.


	9. The Key: James

James smiled humorlessly at Burton Norfolk. The informant met him down Knockturn Alley. There were ales sitting in dirty glasses between them, though neither touched the questionable drinks from Murk's Moonshine. Norfolk, who had know James since he was a new Auror, saw that James' boyish face had undergone some major changes since the War. He had a thinner, gaunter face and his steely blue eyes held no laughter. They pierced through the round-rimmed glasses. He wore an outfit that was simple and black. His face was shadowed with whiskers he hadn't bothered to shave.

Norfolk looked at him with affectionate concern. The two men had little in common, except for a deep-set hatred for Voldemort. The informant was thieving, dishonest and opportunistic, but his own muggle family had been obliterated by Voldemort's followers. He was indebted to the Potters for what they did to stop the Dark Lord and he had compassion for James as the man tried to pick up the pieces of his life.

Norfolk had information for James about the Voldemort's plan to conquer death. James leaned in closer to hear what the man had to say. "The Death Eaters have not heard any instructions from you-know-who. His mortal body has not been found. There are rumors, though, that Sirius' brother—"

"Regulus?" James supplied, bitter. The man had disappeared two years before after betraying the Wizarding world and donning the Death Eater cloak. The fact that Regulus was Sirius' brother only made it hurt more. Sirius had hated his parents long before his brother threw his lot with Voldemort, but James knew that was the moment Padfoot had finally given up any hope of being reconciled with his only sibling. Sirius wouldn't speak of Regulus with James, but as a boy he never let the other Gryffindors touch him. They were still brothers, until that day.

James had never had a brother and his family was nothing like the Blacks. The summer before their fourth year, he had gone to visit them at Grimmauld Place. He remembered the creak of the place while he sat in the stiff upholstered chair while Sirius' argument with Orion raged loudly above them. Walburga sipped on bitter tea while Kreacher cowered obsequiously at her feet.

James had fled after Sirius when he'd finally stormed down the stairs and to the fireplace. In green flame they made their way to Hawk's Hall, nodding briefly at the elder Mr. Potter and grabbing broomsticks as they clattered out onto the lawn. Sirius was still full of rage at his parents and brother, just as James felt a deep grief at the loss of his parents. They were older and he had always thought they were untouched by the war that raged around them. They died instead at St. Mungo's from a wizarding illness that just seemed pointless when so many others were being blasted out of existence.

"Yes, the Death Eater," Norfolk said, bringing James back to the present and their current struggle. "He was scared, at the end. Wasn't anyone on our side who would trust him and he was losing favor with the Dark Lord fast."

"He just disappeared," James said. "We thought his cowardice caught up with him at the end."

"It's no cowardice to subvert the will of you-know-who," Norfolk chided.

James considered. That wasn't the Regulus that he knew, but he'd found that people could surprise you. "What have you heard?" He asked more directly, glancing up to make sure their charms were still in place to make it impossible to listen in on their conversation. Any sound coming from the booth would split into low, incomprehensible chatter.

"I heard that there weren't no one who knew about you-know-who's plan for immortality, except our boy Black, and Black died looking for a way to break the Dark Lord's power."

"That's all?" James inquired, letting the information sink in. It was barely a place to start. He rubbed a hand over his face and placed the gold he owed on the counter.

"That's all," Norfolk said testily, gathering up the coins. "And it's plenty more than you had."

James nodded tersely and stood up, waving away the spell with a quiet hand movement. They left the untouched brews at their table and each disappeared into the night.

In the darkness, James made his way number 12 Grimmauld Place. Though Walburga still reigned in the dark, sinister house with her devoted pet at her heel. The house still belonged to Sirius according to the blood magic that bound them and James was Sirius' secret keeper. He could walk up to the stoop that muggle could see. He could rap the thick iron knocker.

Kreacher answered. "Mistress says the blood traitor must leave," he said in an addled voice.

"Let me in!" James ordered, shouldering past the elf into the hall.

"Potter, you dishonorable, filthy, unholy stain on pure blood!" Walburga wailed as soon as he was visible inside her house. "Get out!"

"I have to see to some things," James snarled back. "Stay out of my way."

"Get out!" Walburga said again, raising her wand.

James raised his as well. "I have leave of the ministry to use the unforgivable curses, Madam," he said coldly. He had never had the stomach for it, not like Moody. He could not muster the hatred for the Cruciatus and his Imperio curse never held for long. This was not something he felt ashamed of, but he had no compunction bluffing for Walburga. She had been driven half-mad in this house by herself and wouldn't offer him much resistance if it came to a fight.

"You stole my son!"

"Do you mean Sirius?" James asked coldly. "I thought he was dead to you."

"Corrupted by you and your ways. That mugblood b—"

"_Imperio!" _James yelled, having found a trigger that would satisfy the curse. For Sirius and for Lily, he would hold her. It was a strange feeling, having control over another person. It made bile rise in his throat. "Sit down, Walburga." He ordered. She lowered herself into a stiff backed chair before the fire.

As he turned toward the staircase, Kreacher attacked him, biting his leg and leaving long claw marks that burned like fire. James yelled and tried to shake the elf off. "Tell him to stop!" James yelped unhappily.

"Kreature? Stop." Walburga said calmly. Immediately the enraged house elf fell back, spitting curses and insults.

"Make her some tea," James ordered. Kreacher continued to swear and spit. "Tell him to make you tea and then drink it. Tell him to leave me alone!" he rephrased the command.

"Don't mind the blood traitor, Kreacher," Walburga said kindly. "Make me some tea."

Kreacher was forced into the kitchen, banging around angrily while James made his way, like the thief and intruder that he was, up to the bedroom. He paused by the family tree, seeing the scorched mark where his friend used to be and he didn't feel so bad about what he had done. Then he passed the quiet, sterile room that had belonged to Sirius and went into the preserved abode of the Death Eater who, apparently, had recanted at the last moment.

With loathing, James looked through the sycophantic articles about Voldemort and the acts of terror perpetrated by the Death Eaters. He found nothing there to suggest Regulus had done anything except lose his nerve at the last minute. Methodically, he read through the notes and spells on Regulus' writing desk. He found innovative curses that rivaled those beauties Severus came up with and he pocketed the little notebook to look through later.

He cast a revelation spell on the desk and was rewarded by an aftershock from the protection charms Regulus must have cast. Now his wand arm was burned and his leg was leaking blood from a house elf bite.

He checked by hand, and a good deal more carefully, for secret compartments and found two. One contained nothing but some photos and keepsakes from Hogwarts. Regulus has been the Slytherin seeker and they had done well in those years. There were also untouched pictures of Sirius there, protected from the wrath of their zealot parents. James shoved them back into their hiding place. The other compartment opened from the bottom and held a Gringotts Key. James took the key and closed the desk. He left no trace of his findings as he went downstairs again, finding Walburga sipping tea as he had commanded.

"_Oblivate_." he said quietly before Kreachure came into the room. Then he disapparated.


	10. The Quidditch Match: Harry

Harry was having a hard time forcing down breakfast before he took to the Quidditch field for the first time against Slytherin. The anticipation had been building for weeks, but Harry just wasn't sure he was ready. He had seen many games before with his dad and marveled at the Seekers' speed and agility on their broomsticks. Despite Wood and McGonagall's confidence in him, he was sure he'd never be able to play like Charlie Weasley. His stomach knotted even more firmly against the prospect of toast and sausage.

The eleven-year-old wasn't sure if he was grateful or anxious about the fact that his father had made plans to come to watch. Hogwarts frequently had visitors come to see the matches and alumni from Hogsmeade filled the stands next to the students, sporting their house colors and cheering loudly. Still, Harry wasn't sure if he wanted his father to intrude on the world of Hogwarts.

A hero of the wizarding world, Harry never was able to glide under the radar, but being with his famous father always made more of a stir. If he didn't embarrass himself on the field, then no doubt James would do something to unwittingly arm Malfoy for the next month or so. But Harry couldn't help grinning and waving when James walked into the breakfast room. He wore a brilliant gold and red scarf and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses as he found his son.

"Uncle James!" Ron called excitedly. James came and shook his hand. Ron turned a little pink at being treated like an adult. It rarely happened to the youngest Weasley son.

James gave Harry a brief, one-armed embrace, doing his best not to embarrass the boy. Then he met Hermione and shook hands with a number of Harry's friends. A small crowd gathered, hoping to be included.

"Good luck today!" James said, seeing that Harry was too nervous to talk and that the attention was making him uncomfortable. He took a seat between McGonagall and Dumbledore at the teacher's table. Harry felt his scar prickle and his eyes went to Snape, who was staring at him with a look of pure malevolence. Too far away to hear what was said, he saw James greet all the other teachers with a cordial smile. Then Snape's eyes turned to the elder Potter and his face grew even more angry and spiteful. The potion master might dislike Harry, but that was nothing compared to his open contempt and hatred of James Potter.

Harry saw his father's smile vanish and his eyes darken angrily as they passed contemptuously over Snape's features. McGonagall said something that distracted him and gradually the more convivial expression returned. Not of the first time, Harry wondered about what had occurred to inspire such mutual hatred between the two men.

He had little time to think on it because he was soon bustled outdoors, where the sun shone brightly, though the autumn day was cold. He put on his dragonhide gloves and donned the scarlet uniform. His broomstick in his hand, he listened with only half an ear to Wood's melodramatic speech-making. Then, before he was ready, it was time to launch himself into the air. The Gryffindor's roared their approval as the team arrived, warming up by zooming up and down the pitch a few times.

James found Ron and Hermione, smiling warmly at his son's friends. They quickly made room for him, glad for their friend but unsure about what to say to the famous Auror. The awkwardness was dispelled when Hagrid arrived late for the match and took a seat on James' other side.

"It's good to see yeh!" Hagrid said warmly to James as his eyes scanned the action on the field. "I knew Harry'd be following in your footsteps, but never imagined he'd make Seeker at his age!"

James grinned proudly. "He is always surprising me."

"Now, let's hope he doesn't get clobbered!" Hagrid said optimistically.

James' grin faltered a bit and they both turned to watch the game.

"The Nimbus2000 is something else," Ron said admiringly as they watched Harry loop-the-loop a few times.

"Harry's been asking for one for months," James agreed with a smile.

Hermione smiled. "Usually, first years aren't even allowed broomsticks, but they made an exception for Harry!"

"Yes, I was surpris—" James was distracted by the jolting motion of Harry's broom. "What's he doing?" he said with concern.

The friends all turned their eyes to Harry and his misbehaving broom. Harry was flung about wildly and held on only with wily determination. "It can't have been tampered with, can it?" James breathed to Hagrid, hand gripping his wand.

"No," Hagrid said with gruff concern, "not the Nimbus?"

"It should be vulnerable to anything but strong dark magic," James said tightly as he watched his son's wild climb. Hermione was scanning the crowd with Hagrid's binoculars, urgently looking for the one responsible.

"It's Snape!" she cried, getting James' attention.

"What?" he snapped with a hard voice, taking the binoculars from her hands and seeing his old enemy practicing what he assumed to be a complicated jinx on his son's broom. "I'll kill him."

The first years who heard his dark pronouncement were convinced of his utter sincerity. James dropped the binoculars and ran through the crowd toward Snape. He roughly shoved by Quirrell, drew back a powerful fist, and punched Severus squarely in the jaw. The wizard, who hadn't taken his eyes off of Harry, crumpled immediately to the ground. James absently rubbed his hand as he glanced up at Harry, who now had regained control of the broom and went into a dive. McGonagall was at Snape's side as the stadium erupted into pandemonium. The head of Gryffindor managed to revive Snape, then looked up at the Auror as if he'd lost his wits.

James' face was grave as he watched Harry make the final dive that ended the game.

"James Potter, what on earth-?" Minerva was scolded as she helped Severus sit up. James turned back to Snape, snarling.

"What were you doing to his broomstick?" he demanded, wand pointing at Snape's heart.

"Put that thing away!" McGongall scolded. "There are students present, Mr. Potter!"

"This man has just made an attempt on my son's life!" James accused.

"Enough!" said Dumbledore's powerful voice. "Enough, James. He did nothing of the sort."

"I know what I saw!" James said angrily. "You're a fool to have trusted him, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore helped a furious Snape to his feet, restraining the potions professor from getting his revenge with a hand on his shoulder. "There are venues more suitable for discussions of this nature," Dumbledore said with finality.

James tore his hate-filled eyes from Severus and found Harry. The boy's face was riveted on the confrontation with concern. Harry's momentary triumph at winning the game had faded as soon as he'd looked up to see his father arguing fiercely with Snape. James rushed forward through the crowd, stopping himself from gathering Harry up in his arms at the last moment. Instead, he gripped Harry's shoulders fiercely. "Are you alright?" he demanded.

Harry nodded, afraid to speak.

"Go with Hagrid. I will find you later." The large gamekeeper lumbered forward and nodded assent as James disappeared with Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall. Ron and Hermione arrived breathlessly and followed Hagrid toward his cottage, all speaking at once about they had seen or suspected. Only Harry stayed quiet, confused and shocked by the events of the afternoon. His scar twinged ominously as he was carefully extracted from the crowd.

James followed the headmaster, who kept a hand on Snape the whole time, though Dumbledore seemed more interesting in supporting and comforting the younger man than on rebuking him.

Once they had made their way to privacy of the Headmaster's quarters, it was McGonagall who spoke first, her accent harsh as she scolded. "What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?" she demanded of James.

"He nearly got Harry killed!" James said angrily.

"That is nonsense!" McGonagall thundered.

"I saw—"

"You saw Severus performing protective magic to try to save Harry's life," McGonagall snapped. "Really James, I expected more of you."

Severus, while still outraged, took some satisfaction at the shadow of doubt that crossed James' face. James ignored the gloating face of his long-time rival and turned to Dumbledore. "If not Severus, then who?" he demanded.

He was greeted with a stony, uncomfortable silence. Not one of them had even a guess at who could have penetrated the Hogwarts defenses.

"I thought he was safe here," James said quietly. "I thought I could trust you," this time his betrayed look encompassed McGonagall and Dumbledore, not just Snape.

"The boy goes out of his way to put himself in dangerous situations," Snape said, cutting through the silence with a sneer.

"By playing Quidditch?" James replied hotly.

"By chasing Trolls," Snape answered coldly.

"From what I heard, he handled himself well," James replied, anger and helplessness making his voice hard.

"Harry has a lot to learn," Dumbledore said evenly. "We are doing our best to protect him while he comes into his own. But, as you know, there are dangers even here at Hogwarts."

"Then my son shouldn't be at Hogwarts," James stated flatly.

"Yes, we all saw how you protect your son," Snape snickered. "He would be so much safer with you."

"Stay away from Harry, you back-stabbing traitor," James snapped.

"Professor Snape has risked his life for the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore said coldly, "He is not Harry's enemy."

"Honestly, James. Can't you see how foolish you are being?" McGonagall entreated.

James scowled. He stood up to go.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I assume you will go directly to see Harry in Hagrid's hut?" he said firmly, recalling the edict he'd made long ago that James must report his purpose while visiting Hogwarts.

James stiffened, but nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"It was Snape!" Harry said angrily when James came into the room. "What did he do that to my broom for?"

James looked a little shame-faced. "I may… have been mistaken," he said quietly.

"But Hermione said –" Harry stated belligerently.

"It certainly looked like it," James agreed, "but he claims that he was using protective magic to steady you."

"You believe that?" Harry scoffed.

"Dumbledore does," James replied evenly. "And Professor McGonagall."

"'n so do I," Hagrid put in. "There's got to be some other explanation."

"Dad, you punched him in the face," Harry said, flabbergasted. "And now you're taking it back?" Snape would probably murder him during their next Potions lesson. If he hadn't wanted to kill Harry before, now he certainly would.

"There is no love lost between Severus and me," James admitted. "I don't trust him and I don't want you associating with him outside of class."

"Not likely," Harry said sourly. "He hates me almost as muct as he hates you!"

"He is a Hogwarts professor," Hagrid said defensively.

"Which doesn't make him a saint," James said. "But he was Lily's friend," he reluctantly added. "Before the war, she always defended him."

Harry was quiet, not used to hearing James talk about his mother.

"But you are obviously not safe here, Harry," James continued, dismissing the subject. "I'm not sure if I should let you remain here after an attempt was made on your life."

"Don't make me leave," Harry said, voice colder and harder than James had ever heard it. "Don't you dare, Dad."

James eyes flickered to his determined son. "Just promise me that you'll be careful."

"I will," Harry said immediately.

James looked at him, desperately wanting to say more. He knew it was no use, though, telling Harry not to go rushing into danger. His son was horrifyingly brave and dismayingly selfless. James just prayed that Harry would also be lucky.


End file.
